


'Always A Good Lad'

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 03:34:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Alfred Burke, 'Alfie The Artiste', had always been a hero to Peter Newkirk, even from his childhood days.  Carter still remembered the totally unexpected glow in Newkirk's eyes that time the little safecracker had parachuted into Germany to help them out of a tight spot.  He remembered that proud comment from Peter, "'e's been practicing the craft for some forty years, more or less, with time off for bad behavior!" {"I remember Peter looking at him like I remember looking at Grandfather, like he hung the moon!"}.Sometimes, as Newkirk had learned early on and had sadly become reacquainted with periodically, even accustomed to, heroes often came with feet of clay, not necessarily apparent in the beginning.  Well, if it was easy to see, they'd not become heroes in the first place, now would they?  This one, though, this one started out a hero in Peter's eyes and remained one all the way to the end.





	'Always A Good Lad'

Of all the people Peter Newkirk had known in his life, Alfred Burke was the most difficult one to pin down, at least in describing to anyone else, as the picture, the image he had in his own mind was so much larger than life. He had to admit that, even to himself. 

On one hand, he regarded the old man, the man who'd taught him so much, with a hero worship he'd never given anyone else, except perhaps Robert Hogan.

On the other hand, Alfie was the one who'd steered him into his more nefarious ways, so perhaps he should have resented him for that. Naw, truth be told, Peter would have picked up those ways anyhow, what with his father's relentless pushing and with Peter needing to provide for his younger sister; just, without Alfie, he'd not have been as successful at it, so the other hand didn't really count, now did it?

It was saying a lot that Peter still had that glow whenever he talked about Alfie, all the way to the end, perhaps never brighter than when Ian had delivered the frail man to Haven to join them for what would be his last months before he traveled on to join his beloved Maisie.

Peter had never been able to reconcile the mental image he had of Alfie, bigger than life in so many ways, with the physical reality, the man so slight in build to make you think a stiff wind would blow him away, especially now, when he'd seemed to have melted away to almost a whisper. Yet, it had been Alfie who'd been strong for Peter, a rock, one of the few people he felt he could count on.

It was Alfie who'd taught him, in an odd twist to the usual guilding process in the East End, a move that got him away from his abusive father for a goodly part of the time, and into a line that let him provide better for his sister. It was Alfie and his beloved Maisie who sat him down and gave him that set of rules about dealing with women, rules so practical and sensible that one day the guys at Stalag 13 would sit back and wonder at them. It was Alfie and Maisie who gave him another place to be in times of sadness and loneliness. And it was Alfie who was the cause of his first bit of time in quod, the young man impulsively stepping in to provide cover for the safecracker when a job started to go all pear shaped. (Of course, it was Alfie and his connections that got him OUT again, in record time, just in time for the war to gather him up and send him on to the next stage of his life.)

It would be a long time before Peter came to know what ELSE Alfie was responsible for - a suggestion to a very old friend that led to the sending of a thirteen year old Brat to mentor with Maude and Marisol, an action that would affect the entire rest of his life. 

And, something Peter never DID hear about and never would, it was Alfie who took matters into his own hands, in a manner of speaking, when the 'old bastard' went too far and put Mavis into danger while Peter was behind bars. Oh, it wasn't Alfie's lay, but he knew someone who could handle that lay, even though they didn't brunt it about.

They'd talked, he and his Maisie, with Maisie reminding him, "there's naught she wouldn't do for Peter, you know that. And I always said, she's not the sweet innocent 'elpless little darling she pretends. Always laugh when I see people so taken in, saying she'd not say boo to a goose. Well, maybe not, but if I were a goose and saw that sweet innocent look, I'd be looking for the 'atchet behind 'er back. Most likely end up the main ingredient in some of that Frenchy liver pate!" and he'd taken a deep breath, and dropped the word that was needed.

He never knew, not for sure, and perhaps it was better that way. Mayhap it hadn't even been needed, since Peter's father had succumbed to a heart attack after heading home from one of his nights at the pub. And maybe Peter being released so quickly after that, maybe that had just been happenstance as well. Maybe.

 

Almost ten weeks he'd been with them there at Haven, fading a little more with each day. He'd asked to speak with Caeide alone, toward the end. She'd sat by his bed, after handing him a hot cup of tea sweetened just as he liked it. For a bit she thought he'd faded off into the corridors of his mind, as he had a tendency to do anymore; he'd told them, with a smile, that his Maisie waited for him there, and they had some good natters before the world pulled him back. Eventually, though, he blinked, and took a sip at his now cooling tea, and looked at her with a faint smile.

"Doubt you ever told 'im, 'im or the others?" For a moment she was puzzled, then her eyes widened as she realized what he was asking. Surely he didn't intend to tell Peter, not now, not after all this time!

"No, you made me swear not to, not that I was of any mind, anyway. Even as bad as it had gotten, still, you never know how a body will react."

The little man nodded, "that's true enough, in many cases. In this? With his Mav being involved? Lass, 'e'd 'ave taken care of it 'imself, I've no doubt of that, though that would have brought the ceiling crashing down, on 'im and on Mavis."

He frowned then, looked at her with a trace of regret in his faded eyes. 

"Per'aps I shouldn't 'ave involved YOU and yours. But, that was never my lay, not w'ere my talents were, and I was worried I'd muck it up and make it worse. And bringing in anyone local, well, loyalties in the East End, they're . . ." 

And she laid a gentle hand on his, "yes, loyalties in the East End are complicated, aren't they? A person can be considered a pure blight on the community, but still, there can be old ties, old debts and obligations that pop up at the oddest times, causing ripples no one can foresee. I understand. I understood then, Alfie. But, if you were thinking of telling him now, I don't see the good in that. You never told Mavis, not to my knowledge, and I've never seen any hint that she guessed, not any part of it." Not that she and Mavis had all that much contact, things never really becoming easy between the two. Easier, perhaps, once the children came, but not easy as such.

He gave a brisk shake of his head, 'no, would never 'ave told Mav about any of it. Well, Peter always kept 'er out of the dodgier bits as much as 'e could. Never let 'er know just w'at the old bastard pushed 'im into, all 'for your little sister's sake'. Just like she never told Peter w'at 'e'd been trying to push 'er into. Well, wasn't like Peter could 'ave done anything about it, being tucked up in quod like 'e was, though would 'ave 'ad plenty to say w'en 'e got out, acourse. Bit of luck, I suppose, in a way, 'im stepping in to take the fall for me, though it didn't seem so at the time. Wanted to thump 'im a good one, for that, but wasn't for that . . ." 

His mind shifted again, just a bit, remembering the boy, then the young man, who'd sat around their kitchen table so many times, sharing with them things he perhaps shared with no one else, maybe not even Maude.

"Never understood 'im, their father I mean, Maisie and me. You couldn't 'ave found a better lad than our Peter, or a sweeter lass than young Mavis. Yet, never a kind word did 'e 'ave for either of them, naught but the back of 'is 'and, more'n like, and always with a new scheme to use them to bring in a few more coins for 'im to drink away. Never 'appy about any other treating them kind-like, either; swore it gave them notions, forget about their 'duty to their dear old da'." The old man snorted in derision. "Never 'ad tikes of our own, but never agreed with the idea some 'ad, bout them being yours to use as you saw fit, for your own benefit. Would 'ave taken the pair of them for our own, if it weren't for knowing 'e'd make us all pay, and dearly, for even trying."

He sipped at his tea, refusing her offer to bring him fresh. "No, there's no need; the tea is fine. And there's no need for 'im to know, either. But I wanted, I needed to know, for sure."

She looked at him, questioningly, not knowing what he meant. He could see that, and realized that, once again, his mind had been so caught up in that last conversation with his Maisie that he'd truly forgotten Caeide couldn't hear them.

"I wanted to be sure, you see; Maisie told me, just this morning, that you understood, that I'd done you and yours no 'arm in involving you. Still, it was troubling me, and she said I needed to talk to you about it, while I still 'ad time." He gave a sheepish smile, "I forgot you wouldn't 'ave 'eard the two of us discussing the matter."

She nodded, then and reassured him, "you did no harm, Alfie. No harm and, I believe, much good. Your Maisie is right. Well, whenever wasn't she, bless her?" She sat, and watched as the old man drifted off into a contented sleep, once again to wander with his Maisie through the market and shops, as they'd done when they were young. Nary a ha-pence between them, but him feeling as rich as a lord with having her at his side.

 

She sat back in the arm chair, remembering. It had been so long ago, when she'd gotten that call at Haven. 

***  
She'd been what, fifteen? No, she'd just that day turned sixteen, just back from running that odd job for Kevin Richards. Poor Kevin! He'd been fine with it, well, mostly anyway, all caught up in the job, what they were trying to accomplish. Then, just when she was closing the trap, she'd seen it in his eyes - his almost-panicked realization that he'd brought a fifteen year old girl to lure a traitor, to pull a con on someone with a highly dangerous profile. She'd been surprised he'd actually kept it together enough to handle his side of the operation, and he'd swore on the way back that he'd never take her out a'hunting again! Well, he never had, well, not for many a year, but her sisters took her place in that, now didn't they?

She'd barely gotten her duffle unpacked that day when her mother had been on the radio. The disbelief, then the hard burn of anger when reality sat in and she disbelieved no longer. Luckily the cousins were still there, agreed to stay on for a few days. 

Her mother had flown in, explaining Lupan's absence with a knowing, "well, there's things he needs to be dealing with, Corry due for whelping any day, and he can handle Lurie's birthing as well. And, there are things perhaps your father doesn't need to be knowing, Caeide. He's Clan, surely, but still not RAISED Clan, not like us . . ."

They'd discussed it between the two of them, knowing it all had to be handled just right. There were two parts to this, first removing the immediate danger to Mavis, then pulling Peter out of his own jam, without letting any fault or blame attach itself to either of them. 

Felane had looked into Caeide's eyes, made sure she understood, "and you have to know, before you walk into this, just how far you're willing to take it, daughter." The steely look in her oldest daughter's eyes told her just how far. She might not be fond of Mavis, nor Mavis any too fond of her either, but by the Sweet Mother, Mavis was Peter's baby sister, and he loved her past all else! What that old bastard had in mind would tear her brown-haired laddie apart, and she'd not stand by and watch that happen, not if she had a chance of preventing it!

Felane had nodded, "so I thought. Shjean should be arriving soon, bringing a weapon that just might come in handy." Caeide wasn't all that surprised when the small plane landed, and her younger sister, Meghada, jumped down and strode quickly down the path to the house, accompanied by their cousin Shjean, he with the tricksy mind and more knowledge of the Outlander's laws and customs than one would think possible.

The two sisters looked at each other, exchanged a knowing look, and Meghada gave a wry grin, "well, big sister, looks like we have a job to do." 

"Are you sure you want to get involved?"

"Are you sure you don't want me to belt you a good one?? Of course I'm involved! Family takes care of Family, even when one is too stubborn to understand he IS Family!"

Shjean stepped around them, headed toward the kitchen and the coffee pot. "I'm best off not hearing or understanding what you two are up to; think I'll go talk to Felane about getting your lad out of quod. Once I'm told it's safe to, of course," giving them a far too knowing look. No, Peter needed to stay away from this, somewhere no one could question his whereabouts should this take the turn Caeide pretty well thought it would.

 

She saw him, headed into one of the lower dives nearer the docks. One of the things she'd always noted about him, in those brief glimpses she had when she'd searched him out, curious, in those London days, was how he looked so little like Peter. She could see more of Mavis in his bone structure, but he lacked any of her more pleasing features.

Word was he'd come back from the war a changed man, and she thought that must truly be the case, for otherwise she could scarcely believe a woman as beautiful and kind and talented as Peter's mother was said to have been could have ever allowed this truly despicable man near her, much less marry and bear children to him, if he'd been this way when they first met. Well, she'd not argue he might have had cause for his unpleasantness, but she gave him no quarter in how he'd treated his wife, his children.

She'd had a distant cousin who'd suffered an injury in that same war, one that caused him to be a danger to his family. HE'D taken steps to seek help, to ensure their safety, even as he descended into a violent fog. He'd set himself aside from them, after getting reassurances from the Grandmother that they would be taken care of properly, accepting the loss of their comfort a fair exchange for the gaining of their safety.

If there had been any hint of sympathy in her, that had disappeared within the hour, after she, grease paint and charcoal pencil transforming her features, decked in her boy's clothes with her hair tucked under her cap, had eavesdropped on his conversation with that oily man in the checkered suit. 

"Now, I'm wanting to get this settled right quick, before 'er brother gets out of quod. Easier to get 'im to see sense when it's already a done deal. And she ain't 'alf bad looking, my girl. Good 'air, 'as all 'er own teeth, nice smooth skin, and filled out nicely. Not yet twenty, you know; old enough to be sensible and easy to manage, once she knows you're willing to use your fist if need be. Make you a tidy sum, she would. She'd appeal to many, both now and still when she gets a couple more years under 'er belt," she'd heard him argue, trying to drive up the price. It was only with a great deal of effort she unclenched her fist, made her posture remain casual. Her own father would have died to protect her, her and her siblings, she had no doubt of that, and this bastard was trying to strike a deal to sell his own daughter.

While that overheard conversation made her sick and angry, it DID serve one good purpose. It let her set aside any qualms about the meeting she and her younger sister intended on having with the man a little later. It also made the outcome of that meeting a foregone conclusion.

{"The only surprising thing was how easy it was. We didn't even have to lay a finger, or claw or tooth, on the old villain. Somehow, it had taken no more than the sight of, at first, a snarling red wolf standing over him, dripping foamy spittle onto his face, and then Meghada doing that partial shift that she'd learned how to do. Only question was which exploded first, his mind or his heart."}. Of course, she had to admit the first time or two her little sister had shown that particular trick, Caeide had a good case of the collywobbles herself. There was just something, well, unsettling about the sight of a Dragon's head and neck on her sister's otherwise unshifted body. (Caeide had never been totally sure whether that was a reality or an illusion, and had never taken the steps necessary to find out.). And although the sight had been unsettling even for her, it was perhaps not as unsettling as the hungry, speculative look that crossed the younger woman's transformed features as she peered down at that limp form.

"No," she'd said, quite firmly. "We NEED him FOUND, Meghada. You can have dinner when we get back to the pub!" A low grumbling hiss made her insist, "I mean it! And besides, wherever would you put him? There's no room for a full shift in this alley. Remember what mother always says, "make sure your eyes aren't bigger than your stomach!". Common sense had prevailed, and even Meghada admitted the cottage pie at Maude's pub had been quite toothsome.

Back home, enjoying a quiet drink, Felane had told her of Alfie and Maisie gathering around young Mavis, the neighbors pitching in to provide comfort during the time of her 'bereavement'.

"And Shjean has put the wheels into motion; Peter will be released later today. Well, it seems the charges have been dropped, for some reason, and with the 'loss' of his father, it seemed unfair to keep him locked up any longer, what with his sister likely needing his help."

****

It wasn't long after that private conversation, after an evening filled with a quiet card game, a small dram of good whiskey, and chuckled reminiscences, Alfie left them. No one was much surprised to find he'd slipped away gently in the night. Peter had blinked away tears, swallowed heavily, but then forced a smile, "looks like 'e's on 'is way to meet 'is Maisie. Right anxious 'e was for that, you know. Never saw any two w'at loved each other more." 

Two sets of loving arms wrapped themselves around him in ressurance and comfort, and his smile changed, "well, not til us, anyways."

***  
He'd wrapped his arms around her, kissed her on her rosy cheek, and then on her smiling lips. "I've missed you, Maisie-girl, more than I can ever say. Even with talking to you so much, and you always being ready to listen, still . . ."

Maisie snuggled close to him, looking down into those twinkling eyes that had first captured her heart so long ago, "well, no more than I missed you, surely, Alfie. Was pleased, truly, to see you spending time with our Peter. Tell me, is 'e as 'appy as 'e looks?"

Alfie chuckled, tucking her hand up under her arm, starting to stroll down that long lane toward the cottage at the far end. "Ei, Maisie, 'ave I got a tale to tell you! Landed in sweet clover and wild 'oney, 'as our Peter, with 'is sweet lad and lassie and their tikes! Well, no one deserves it better. 'e always WAS a good lad!"

"Well, they always say, Alfie, it takes one to know one," and she leaned her head to nestle against his, delighting in the presence of her own good lad once again.


End file.
